


A Whole New Life

by JohnQKole



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28372149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnQKole/pseuds/JohnQKole
Summary: Months after saying goodbye, The Priest decides he can't stay in London any longer and requests reassignment somewhere new. Years later, after a change of heart, he returns to find his Love.
Relationships: Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 83
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

_A/N- sorry to be gone so long. Everything has been kicking my ass these last few months._

_I am writing this based on a prompt from the amazing person who served as inspiration for a character (Ann) in another story I did, and also helped me cope in countless ways these last few months. I’m not a great prompt writer, but I’ll do my best. I’m several months late on delivering this, but late is better than never, I hope._

_Just a few chaps for this story. I'm ignoring all things pandemic in this one._

* * *

**— _Preface_ —**

_A few months after the last time he said goodbye to his Love just after his first ever wedding, the Priest packed his meager belongings and set out to embark on a whole new life. This should have been a time of joy, rejoicing in new (less complicated) horizons. But he didn’t feel joy. He felt the same unsettled, sad, empty feelings that plagued him. So he had a drink. And a few more._

_On the way to the airport, he found himself standing in his Love's café. He hadn’t seen her since they parted ways after the wedding. He had no idea where her life had taken her or if she even wanted to see him. He knew it wasn't a great idea to go to her, opening up the wounds that hadn’t really even begun to heal yet. At least for him. But that didn't stop him from going._

_Forgoing small talk, he immediately began, “I won’t take much of your time. I just wanted a chance to say goodbye. I’m being transferred.”_

_“How nice of you to pop ‘round to say hi just to have a chance to say goodbye again,” she said with a tone that was friendly enough, although there was raw disappointment just beneath it._

_“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, his voice soft._

_“Well, I have as well. Haven’t really missed the goodbyes, though. Oddly enough.”_

_“Do you want me to go?”_

_She shook her head. Taking a beat to steady herself, she attempted small talk, asking, “When do you leave for your new assignment?”_

_He looked at his wrist like there was a watch there and said, “Couple of hours.”_

_She chuckled like she wondered what in the fuck she was supposed to do about anything in a few short hours._

_He looked away, uncomfortable himself, wondering what he should say now that he had one last chance to talk to her. “I shouldn’t have come.”_

_“So why did you?”_

_“Because…” he fought for answers, “I thought you should know.”_

_He held back the words in his head, refusing to tell her, ‘you’re the one thing I’ll miss the most and the reason I have to leave.’ It wouldn't do any good._

_“Well, thanks for that,” she replied with a smile that let him know the ache she felt hadn't subsided yet._

_Silently chastising himself for being so selfish as to reopen these emotional wounds for her, he said, “I’ll go. I just wanted to—” his arms opened to the sides, admitting his own lack of knowing. “I wanted to see you before I left. I won’t be coming back. I thought I should tell you I was going…in case you were looking for me.”_

_“You told me not to come find you.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Do you have to go wherever they want? Can’t you tell them you don’t want this job?”_

_“I could.” Sheepishly he added, “But I requested this transfer.”_

_“Why?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh._

_“You know why.”_

_“But I don’t.”_

_“I can’t do it. I can’t be so close and stay away.”_

_“You have stayed away,” she said with heavy annoyance and frustration._

_“Yet here I am. It’s exhausting, fighting it. I need a change. A new start.”_

_She waited, completely unsure of what to do with him, with a pitying sort of look on her face that made it clear he looked as pathetic as he felt._

_“I don’t want to stay away,” he admitted._

_“So why do you?” she asked, her derision for the ridiculous rules he chose to follow clear in her tone and her face, although her eyes betrayed the affection she still held for him._

_“Because I have to.”_

_She didn’t answer. She just watched and waited._

_Loudly, full of the angst and longing that was trapped in him, he said, “I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.”_

_She turned away, and it hit him like a harsh rejection. As he shuffled back toward the door, she called out, “Wait,” and grabbed a bottle of water and a small packet from a stash in a drawer. “You’re gonna need this, I think.”_

_She crossed the floor and reached out toward him. He touched her hand when he took the bottle, and looked down at a packet of pain reliever. He wondered if she pitied him for the hangover in his future, or if she thought it might help to ease the pain of his broken heart._

_Compassion obvious in her expression, he felt that connection that refused to ebb in months apart. He placed the bottle on a table, his hand resting on the top for a moment before he stepped closer. He moved slowly toward her, watching for signs she would retreat, but she didn’t make any move at all. Once he was so close that touching was nearly unavoidable, he reached out, his fingers gently pinching a bit of fabric near the bottom of her shirt. She tilted her head to the side when she surrendered, allowing him to close the remaining slice of a gap._

_His hands surrounded her waist, curling around to her back and holding her close as her arms finally embraced him. It felt so good it was nearly painful, holding on to the person he’d wanted so desperately for so many days and nights, knowing full well that she would soon be gone from his life forever._

_There was a moment of gentle acceptance, the two surrendering. The pain in his chest at his impending departure sat as equals with the joy he felt at being close to her again. It all swelled in him, all the feelings of love and terror, peace and turmoil, excitement and anxiety, all there in that final moment that he wanted to hide in._

_He nuzzled his face between her neck and shoulder, breathing in thoughts of the past and considering all of the possible things that might have been. His lips pressed softly against her for an inevitable moment as her hand moved up his back and neck and settled in his hair, holding him in place._

_She moaned a tiny sigh that contained the same hideous cocktail of conflicted emotions that he had. She still understood him in ways no one else ever would._

_It wasn’t exactly clear who initiated what happened next, but their mouths found each other with deep, desperate kisses as they held on before the other slipped away. She pulled him back behind the counter, each pawing for contact, groping at the one they’d longed for. He didn’t struggle with the morality of his actions when his palms slid up her legs beneath her skirt, and her fingers opened his trousers._

_She moved back, perching on the edge of the counter and immediately yanking him toward her. There was no discussion of what would happen, no lead up, no coaxing at all. After all, these two carried this longing with them every moment of every day. When their bodies finally joined and they started to find a hurried rhythm, he told he’d missed her ‘so very fucking much’ in a confession that tumbled out of him in garbled grunts. There was a certain type of desperate ferocity in the way they fucked each other, loud and hungry and lusty. Every bit of passion that had been trapped within them came forth and met their other in the few minutes they still had to share._

_In the sated seconds after they were through, there was a brief suspension of time where everything seemed just fine, where the loss and separation that awaited them was forgotten. That wonderful reprieve crumbled and vanished far too easily as the realization of what was to come flooded back into him. The emotions that followed were as horribly sad as the previous ones had been thrilling and passionate._

_“Fuck,” he murmured as they breathed heavily against each other. Already that guilt rose in him, not even allowing him a few moments of silence. He could feel her sadness flow into him as she heard his almost immediate regret._

_She kept him close for that short while, her fingers tightly latched on. In some ways, he wondered if she might hold him tightly enough, or yell ardently enough, or finally tell him what a ridiculous fool he was for running from this, and he’d have no choice but to stay. But her fingers loosened their grip as she accepted what was to come._

_Before it was too late, he pulled her against him one last time to stop her retreat. His hand rested on her face, his thumb brushing her lips. “I truly hope you find...someone you love madly, who’s not afraid to love you madly in return...without reservation or hesitation—”_

_“Yea, thanks,” she interrupted sharply. He thought she would have preferred it if he’d left without saying anything at all._

_“I’ll pray that you find it. For whatever that’s worth.” He smiled a smile of mourning. Eyes beginning to tear, his hand rested on his heart as he added with a choked voice, “And selfishly, I’ll pray that I never have to see the two of you together...madly in love.”_

_Her face displayed a sort of awful missing, the tears held back by will alone. She separated herself from him fully, pushing her clothes back into place, distancing herself from what had happened._

_As he saw her face, he considered the pain he’d caused, showing up here again, and he loathed himself for it. Feeling suddenly cold, he fixed his clothing, carefully tucking in his shirt and smoothing the wrinkles at first until he decided he didn’t really care if he looked disheveled._

_Firmly taking her hand while keeping some distance between their bodies, he said, “I truly do love you. I just can’t—”_

_“I know,” she stopped him again. “And I love you. But it just...it doesn’t matter enough to make a difference. Does it?”_

_Those words crushed him, and although he struggled to find some explanation to offer her, there was none to give. She stopped him like she was putting him out of his misery, her fingers slipping out of his grasp, “I hope you have a nice life...wherever it is that you’re going.”_

_Many words were unsaid, a lengthy stare of longing shared, and then resignation as both seemed to know that their outcome would not change._

_“Goodbye,” he whispered as he left to get in a taxi, board a plane, and fly to a safer place._

* * *

**—December 27th, Two Years Later—**

He settles down into the seat of the plane as it levels off, leaving the airbase behind him. He chuckles slightly to himself, surprised that he’s actually going through with all this.

It’s been more than two years since he’s been in London, two years since he made a choice to leave, the only option he felt he had back when he was a Priest in love with a Woman. It’s been that long since he’s laid eyes on her. 

The memory of his last visit comes back, the ill-advised drunken decision to stop by the café just to say goodbye to her one last time. The only thing he did that night was bring more sadness and loss into her life. He has carried the guilt of that with him each day. He hasn’t really forgiven himself for it. 

He vowed that night never to return. He’d promised it. But he’s going there, determined to see her. Of course now he has something to offer that he couldn’t before: himself.

He needed to make such a drastic decision of his own free will, the choice to leave the priesthood was his and his alone. No one else is to blame. 

The Former-Priest wants to come find her as a free man, to find out if any shred of what was between them is there still. He thought of trying to phone her, reaching out before showing up unannounced. After all, if she is happy, he doesn’t want to ruin that. No, he vows that if she’s contently partnered, he’ll keep his news to himself, let her have her new life, wish her only the very best. But if she isn’t with anyone, if she isn't happily paired...if she’s willing to consider him...well, he’s not going to think about that yet. 

He thought about this journey again and again in the previous weeks, strategizing on what to do, how to show up, what to say. Make no mistake, he is terrified of this. He fears rejection, heartbreak. But this risk is one he simply must take because he has to know.

The moment he lands he gets a taxi and goes straight to her old flat, hoping she still lives in the same spot. With courage and hope, he knocks on the door and finds a new couple living there. They have no idea what happened to the previous occupant. By the concerned way they look at him, he wonders if he appears even more rattled than he is.

So he goes next to the café, hoping that it’s still open and she’s still the proprietor. For the first time, he entertains the possibility that he may not find her at all. After all, a hell of a lot can happen in two years. So many new worries pop up in his head that the ride goes by quickly, and he finds himself in front of her café, staring at the door, hardly able to move. 

As he reaches for that door, it suddenly opens, and he waits as a woman with a child on her hip wishes him a good morning as she passes by, her thick accent reminding him of his boyhood. She hurries off on her way as he slips into the building before the door closes. Memories of the last time he was here fill his thoughts. 

His heart thuds noticeably, a flush of fresh nerves washing over him when he sees his Love. She is behind the counter, paying him no mind at all, and he wonders if two years have really passed, or if it’s been mere moments since he left her standing in nearly that same spot. 

She finishes slipping a container into place beneath the glass display case, and then picks up her phone and smiles as she scrolls through something on the screen. She hasn’t acknowledged him, and he realizes that he entered the building when someone else left, so the door's bell didn’t jingle again to alert her that someone had entered.

He takes a small step and the floor creaks, and she startles and shouts, “Jesus!” as she hops back, her phone dropping and sliding across the floor. He’s not sure if she’s relieved to know the person who has startled her.

She smiles, awkwardly, shakes her head a little and then goes back to work without saying anything except, “Hi.” He retrieves her phone from the floor and steps forward, holding it out to her. She hesitates, glancing at it, then at him, and finally opting to quickly take it from his hand. After verifying that it’s not broken, she tucks it away out of sight. 

“Hello,” he replies tensely. 

“Hi,” she succinctly states again.

She doesn’t seem all that excited to see him, so he pries, “Is it okay that I’m here?” 

“Probably should check in with God on that one,” she notes.

"Fuck it’s ridiculously good to see you. How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” she replies. “You?”

“I’m great!” he answers, a bit too enthusiastically. 

“Cool.”

He isn’t sure what to say, and sounds as nervous and fumbling as he feels as he explains, “I...erm.. I—I just got back to London. From Belize.”

“Exciting.”

“I was there in an official capacity,” he continues.

She nods, “How nice,” with a smile that feels intentionally drawn on her face. 

All the days and nights he’s planned for this meeting, and he can’t seem to think of anything at all to say except the questions he’s dying to ask. So he says, “Could I trouble you for a tea?” to buy some time.

“Sure.”

He takes a full but shaky breath, wringing his hands, hoping bravery increases with oxygen. He watches her as she fulfills his order, continuing, “I was a chaplain. For the army. Besides Belize, spent some time in Somalia, short stint in the Ukraine, and a bit in Germany. Kind of shuffled all over the place.”

“Army?” she asks as she prepares his drink.

“Yea. Spent the last two years doing that. Got to see a bit more of the world.” 

He finds his wallet so he can pay her, but she shakes her head, and waves him away to refuse payment. He doesn’t see a ring on her finger when she places his cup on the counter and nudges it toward him, but that’s certainly not definitive proof of much of anything.

“Funny,” she says, pondering what she’s been told.

“What is?”

“Searching for peace with the army.”

He breathes a chuckle. “I can see why that might seem odd. But I only served a spiritually supportive role. I didn’t... invade anything.”

She’s just as hard to decipher as he remembers, but he’s just as willing to keep seeking answers, so he asks, “What have you been doing? Are you….what’s new?”

She pauses, studying him and his nervousness. He realizes that although she still seems protective of herself, she doesn’t really appear angry or devastated. In fact, she looks quite well.

In a friendly tone, she says, “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad about leaving. Not on my account anyway. I haven’t been moping away these last couple of years. I’m really fine. I think I actually...like my life.” She looks surprised by her admission, silently considering this, but finally nodding that she stands by her assessment.

“Oh! Good. That’s good. I’m—” he pauses, wondering about this happiness, and if he’s too late and it’s best to leave without interfering further.

Watching him fight for his words, she laughs as she counters, “What?”

“What do you like about this life of yours?”

She shrugs.

Unable to wait any longer, he questions, “Are you...seeing anyone?” in a voice that sounds sort of uncertain and gentle.

She stares like she doesn’t know why he’s asking, but begins to reply, “Well—”

He breaks in, “I know I have no right to ask.”

“It’s alright. No serious romantic relationships at the moment.”

He tries not to look overjoyed to hear this, but hides it poorly. “Well that’s...too bad.”

“Is it?” she smirks, seeing through his terrible performance as she gets her own drink. “Even still, I don’t have time to have sex with you during your quick stop here before you’re off to war again. Have to open the café.” 

He chuckles before he says, “I’m truly sorry about that night. Showing up like that—”

“It’s okay,” she answers with remarkable ease, making him wonder if she’s completely moved on from what they shared.

“I’m actually here in London for a little while, though,” he explains. 

“Oh?” 

She grabs her own cup and they sit on opposite sides of a table with their drinks.

“I resigned,” he blurts out. 

“As a chaplain? Settling down as a church priest again?”

“No. I mean I resigned...my vocation. The priesthood.”

Her jaw actually drops a bit. “Oh,” she says, staring into the distance. He can hear her leg bouncing nervously beneath the table. He was hoping for a slightly more excited reaction, but it’s not like he can expect her to fall into his arms. “Why?” she asks with apparent suspicion.

“I ran all over the world, trying to escape...” he gestures to the air around them, “...this. I ran from life to become a priest, then ran from you to stay a priest...I wondered why all I ever seem to do is run. And I’m fucking miserable with every step. Eventually figured out I became a priest and stayed a priest to hide. The funny thing is...I had opportunities these past years, for romance, sex...maybe even for love. That may surprise you, but—”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she acknowledges with only the most fleeting glance in his direction. 

“But I had to wonder why they were all so easy to walk away from. Why was it so simple to avoid entanglements with anyone else but….” He looks away, trying not to say too much too soon. When he finally looks back at her and notes the confused surprise etched on her face, he says, “Sorry. I’m sure this is all quite unexpected—”

“You could say that.”

“Look, I’ve come here to see you. That's the truth of it. I’ve missed...having you in my life, I’ve missed you...so much more than you could possibly know. I wanted to find out if maybe we could...you know...spend time together, hang out—”

“Hang out?” 

“Yea. Without the complications of priesthood. Maybe see if too much has changed or if we still seem to have such...connection between us.”

“I mean—”

Worried that he’s now made it sound too casual, he rapidly continues, “All the places I’ve gone, the people I’ve met...there’s no one I’ve encountered who's remotely like you.”

“Wow,” is all she replies, her fingers passing through wisps of steam above her mug.

“What about tonight? Dinner. Or drinks. I’ll do literally anything you‘d like.”

“I can’t tonight,” she says with overt discomfort.

“Okay, then—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just...sort of...busier.”

"I understand.”

“Listen, I really have to open the café. You’re welcome to stay a while, finish your tea. I’ll see if another day might work out and I’ll let you know.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll see what my schedule is and—” she nods a bit, considering factors he isn’t aware of. “Can I just get things opened up? You don’t have to leave."

“Of course.”

The part of him that hoped that they’d close the café and run off together is disappointed, but she hasn’t turned him down either. He can’t exactly blame her for her hesitation, and he knows the difficult task of getting close to what she’s thinking has not become any easier. He hopes it’s just a lot to process, too much of a surprise. 

A thought occurs to him: the recollection of someone leaving the café when he first arrived. He wonders why there was someone here earlier if the café wasn’t even opened yet. It doesn’t seem a particularly important thought to have, although it does seem a little strange, so in making conversation as she readies things, he lightly asks, “Your café wasn’t open when I got here?”

“No. Supposed to open now. I’m ready enough.”

“Thought I saw a customer leave when I came in.”

“Oh, right,” she bobs her head and disappears into her work. 

He stands, looking around for clues about her life, seeing a lot of the same guinea pig decorations. But there are a few items that surely weren’t here before. Like clunky, brightly colored blocks, and little soft, puffy books in a portable playard tucked in the corner. He wonders why in the hell he didn’t notice these things before. They don't appear to be for a guinea pig. He swallows the tension rising in his throat and says, “You run this place on your own?”

“Yea.”

He leans down to scoop up one of the toys and study it. Holding it up, he asks, “So these are yours?”

She stares, face reddening, then jokes, “Have to have something to do when I’m not busy.”

“Do you have a child?”

Turning her attention for a moment to some container that can’t possibly be as important as this conversation, she looks back at him, closes her lips tightly, and she eventually nods. Then she goes right back to her work.

After a bit, she tries to lighten the mood, saying, “Bet you wished you knew that before you flew here and asked me to _hang_ _out_.”

“Was that who I saw this morning?”

She bobs her head. “Well, the small one was mine. The woman helps me out, watches her.”

His head spins as he struggles to remember anything about the child he’d walked right past, the obvious questions firing. He hadn’t really paid any attention at all.

She explains, “That’s why my schedule is busier now. I’d have to see if Simone can watch her. Or my sister. It’s not that I don’t want to see you. But I totally get it if you don’t want to. Your life is less complicated, but mine is much more so.” She’s trying so hard to sound casual that he can see this isn't easy for her. 

“How old?”

“One,” she answers, without the details of months or weeks or days often used for very young children. 

With a grimacing expression, he asks, “And the father—”

She answers calmly, "It’s just the two of us.”

He winces, not liking this vague answer as he tries to figure it all out.

She jokes, “Wonder if people thought Jesus' mum's whole story was just a massive coverup that—”

He's not distracted by the joke. “I'm not the...uh...any chance I'm th—the…” his voice falls off. He’s not even sure what he hopes her answer will be, nor can he really complete the question.

She puts down her work, braces her hands on the counter, and says, “Don’t ask questions if you're not ready for the answers.” And he knows without a doubt the child is his.

“Fuck.”

“My daughter and I are just fine—”

“A daughter?”

“We don’t need or want anything at all. No one has the slightest clue about her beginnings. It was my fault, really, because I didn’t have to go through with it. I made this decision all on my own, you aren’t responsible for—”

“I am at least a little responsible.”

“Look, I was going to get an abortion—”

“Jesus,” he gripes, dropping back down to the chair, bracing his face in his hands.

“I didn’t. Obviously. It was my choice to do this. If I'd had the abortion, you never would have found out. I don’t have any regrets about it, but I'm the one who chose this.”

“You could have told me.”

Her gentle understanding falls away as she argues, “No! I couldn’t! What the fuck did you expect me to do? You left, said you weren’t coming back. You chose God. Again. What was I supposed to do? Should I have wandered through the churches of the world looking for you, or just stormed the Vatican screaming, ‘Has anyone seen the priest I fucked'? You were gone. You didn’t even exist anymore.”

“I’m sorry I left and—”

“Don’t be. But don’t try to make me feel guilty for the fact that you vanished and I made my own decisions. You chose to leave. And this is what I chose. I've made a lot of sacrifices, but it's been pretty good for me," she explains as his words spoken years ago echo in his mind. She sighs and adds, "I respected your choices. Now I'm asking you to respect mine."

"I do. Of course I do." He looks at the toy he dropped on the table earlier, picks it back up, so astounded by the fact that he’d helped to create the person who usually plays with it. 

His words stumble, and he whispers, "I was so reckless."

"I was, too."

"I didn't even fucking think about it, I was so absorbed by my own—"

She sits in front of him, nods and says, “Hard to think at times like those.”

“Sorry, I'm just so sorry. I'm...”

“I don't blame you,” she reassures before he can apologize yet again. “You weren’t exactly at your best when I last saw you. It all worked out okay. I have a nice life. And she’s not complaining.”

Finally, a question comes to the forefront of his thoughts, and he asks, “What made you decide not to...what made you decide to keep the baby?”

She sighs and confesses, “I was on my way for my appointment at the clinic and the pictures on the walls all crashed down.”

“Really?” he asks, completely astounded, sitting straight up.

“No!” she laughs boldly, and he manages a strained chuckle. “I just...decided I didn’t want to. I didn't have some grand revelation or anything.”

“That’s it? You just 'didn’t want to'?”

She sighs like she doesn’t want to confess more, but he’s grateful when she tells him, “I had a nice long stretch of adulthood with almost complete freedom. It just seemed the right time. And I've never had much luck with romantic relationships, so I figured I'd give something new a try. And I thought about what you said that night before you left and decided…why not?”

He tries to recall that night, the words spoken, but his eyes ask her for more.

“You said…” she begins, stalling but continuing softly, “you said you hoped I’d meet someone who wasn’t afraid to love me madly. Someone I loved. And I have. She does. No one in this world has ever loved me the way she does. And I her. I know it wasn’t what you meant, it’s not romantic love or the happily-ever-after fuckery we're supposed to hope for, but that hasn’t ever worked out all that well for me anyway.”

He wonders how in the hell such a thing could happen without God giving him some clue. Then the thought occurs to him that maybe his desire to find her did come from a bit of prodding from the Heavens. “I’m a father?” he asks God. 

“Not really,” she answers, not out of cruelty, but trying to ease his worry. “But that wish you had for me, the thing you said you’d pray that I’d find, I found it. And you, unknowingly, sort of...facilitated that.”

“Facilitated?” he counters, still reeling.

“You don’t have to panic and head off for a moon colony or Antarctica. I’ve never told anyone,” she promises. “There’s no reason for you to feel anything has changed.”

“How do you answer the questions? Doesn't your family ask about the father or—”

“There aren’t many questions anymore. At first, I employed a healthy dose of humor, blatantly obvious lies, and the occasional act of re-direction. It's really no one else's fucking business, is it?” Customers come and his Love has to work.

He has never been so shocked by anything in all his life. He drinks his tea and reads two of the little books left for the child. He’s not sure why, and plenty of the customers seem to wonder why he’s reading them alone.

He occasionally feels her eyes on him, and when he does study her, he knows she really does look happier than before. 

Pouring back through their conversation, he tries to decide if she’s worked hard to convince him he has no obligation to her and the child for his benefit, or because she really, truly, does not want him involved. These thoughts lead him to consider things past, and the life he’s lived. More frightening, in some ways, are questions of where he wants his life to go.

An hour or so passes as he watches the piece of the world around him, although he’s paid little attention to the time. He hears the clank of a plate on the table and finds a sandwich and another drink. He looks up and says, “Thank you,” with genuine appreciation.

His Love puts her own plate down across from his and sits. She pokes one of the children’s books and teases, “Quite an ending in that one.”

“I was relieved the duck found his frog friend. Could have taken a very dark turn,” he plays along. 

“On the edge of my seat until the end.” The smile she offers fades. Soberly, she says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For her,” she answers. 

“You want me to stay away?” he asks directly, since he’ll worry each time she speaks that that’s what she’s about to say. After all, it seems a fitting punishment, in a way.

“How long are you around for this time?”

“As long as I want to be.”

“And you’re really not a priest?"

“I’m not, not anymore. Just an...ordinary man.”

She eats her sandwich, considering all this.

He finally reaches out, touches the back of her hand with his fingers, “I came here to see you. I’d still like to do that.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yea,” he states with certainty. “But only if you want.”

She nods. “Tomorrow afternoon, around three. We can meet here. If that works?”

“It does.” He nods rapidly, a smile finding its way onto his face through the chaos of emotions the last hours have brought. 

“What?” she asks.

“I have so many things I’d like to tell you. And a million questions to ask.”

She meets his eyes, “Listen, if you decide not to come…I’ll understand completely.”

He resolutely takes her hand, pressing palm to palm, lacing their fingers. “It's taken me two years to get back here again. You can fucking bet I’ll be here tomorrow."

In those few short hours, his entire world has been turned upside down. 


	2. Chapter 2

The Ex-Priest’s thoughts are somewhat plagued in the hours that follow his Love’s revelation. Although she seems more concerned that he’ll feel responsibility she doesn’t think he owes her or the child, he feels a very deep-seated guilt that he went off to take care of his own needs. He missed the birth of their child, failing the person he loves. Moments of their lives have existed, memories, milestones, that he’ll never be able to witness. When he came back to London to find what his life was missing, he didn’t realize all that awaited him there.

The one thing that cuts through this vast disappointment in himself is the fact that he thinks he really does have a chance to be with the person he’s loved for so long, to make things right. 

As he walks back to the café the next day, he feels those nerves rise again. He isn’t certain how to make it all happen, but he knows exactly what he wants the outcome to be. And he knows where he belongs. Nothing he’s learned since returning has made his certainty falter.

Worries speak in his mind, one after the next, until he sees her walking toward him. His whole head goes mercifully silent the moment she notices him and smiles. 

She’s wearing her coat, he thinks it’s the same one she wore years ago, and memories come rushing in. “You look lovely,” he says immediately. 

She answers, “So do you. So irreligious!”

“Thank you! I hear that’s all the rage.” He feels somewhat buoyant as her shoulders shake with subtle laughter.

Trying not to declare his undying love on the spot because his heart is far ahead of his brain, he looks at the café and says, “Thought you’d be working.”

“Café closes early today. Ran home and changed so I don’t smell like a giant latte.”

He laughs softly and comments, “I like lattes. For future reference.”

“Do you want to get a drink?” she asks.

“Yea. Come with me,” he says, nodding in the right direction and falling in step next to her as they stroll.

He expects the conversation will be awkward at first, but he asks her about her café, and she speaks somewhat freely about how all that is going. 

He found this place the night before while he walked through the city, trying to sort his thoughts. There’s a park across the way, and some of the seats inside the slightly upscale restaurant are in windows looking out towards it. He’s not trying to play it cool; it is clear this is more of a romantic spot than a two-pals-grabbing-beers sort of location. 

She orders, and he asks for the same. The moment the glasses are in front of them, she turns to face him, her knee brushing his when he mirrors her. She leans her arm on the high table in front of them and says, “So...tell me all about your little adventure with the armed forces.”

“I don’t want to bore you—” 

“Start talking, and if I get bored, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. Well, there’s some training, you know, even for a chaplain. It’s not really as intense as soldiers, nowhere near, but there are a few things you have to be prepared for in an emergency...” And he talks for nearly an hour about where he’s been and what he’s done, answering questions as she poses them. 

She leans her chin on her hand as she hangs on every last word with a fascination that baffles him a little. She comments or reacts at the right moments, and although he doesn’t consider himself a master of reading body language, she definitely seems to be flirting with him as he speaks. She doesn’t really touch him, apart from her knee on his, but he reaches out sometimes and touches her hand or her forearm to punctuate a point, and she doesn’t seem to mind when he does.

Finally, as she’s giggling heartily at his last tale, he says, “Some things don't change. I never shut up, do I?”

“I don’t mind,” she replies. 

He orders a second drink, having ensured that his first was sipped at and lasted a good while because he certainly wants to keep solidly sober thinking. She says, “I’ll have one more,” and that feels like another win because she isn’t running off. 

The first long moment of silence between them comes, and they both look outside and see a few fluffy snowflakes meandering down. The grass and trees and roofs are lightly blanketed.

“Beautiful,” she comments as she watches it fall.

“Want to go for a walk?” he asks, seeing the romantic possibilities of a park and fresh snow, the holiday lights still decorating the world around them.

“After this,” she says, holding up the fresh glass of wine. “Might help keep us warm.”

“True,” he comments, drinking with her, noting exactly how unhurried she seems.

“Do you think the army was good for you?” she asks quite directly. “You seem really good. Happier.”

“I feel happier, for the most part,” he admits. “I think I needed some order and routine in my life.”

“Can’t get much more orderly and regimented than a priest in the army,” she playfully mentions.

“True. It helped me get my head back squarely on my shoulders. You kind of fall into the rhythm of everything, even in my role.”

“Well that’s good. I'm happy for you.”

“I’d like to think I’m better for it.”

“And you left that all behind, and started a completely new life...again.”

“It was the right time. Was done hiding. Wanted to come back and try to figure out if I was holding onto a love who didn’t want me anymore.”

She looks down, her shoulder lifting slightly, probably not expecting such a forthright statement.

He adds, “Once I realized the priesthood was a hiding place, I became horribly impatient to get back here. To see you again. To find out where you’d been the last two years.”

“Regret it already?” she teases.

“Not in the least,” he flirts. But it all feels serious, and he senses her pulling back a bit, so he asks about her family.

She tells him about her father and stepmother, Claire’s messy divorce and new engagement, and about a few rather strange visits from nephew Jake, who promised her he still considers them family, no matter what. 

The Former-Priest is surprised by her openness about all this until he realizes that she is very intentionally not discussing one particular member of her family. In fact, had he not found out about her daughter the day before, nothing she has said or done would lead him to believe one even exists.

Her phone rings, and she looks at the display and apologizes before she answers. She turns away, whispering into the phone. The only words he hears are, ”in the cupboard above the sink.” And then, right before hanging up, she asks the caller, “Do you want me to come home?”

She ends the call and immediately goes back to talking about her sister, but he interrupts and asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Yea. Why?” she counters like the call had never taken place.

“The call. If you need to go I—”

“No. I have some time yet. Do you have to leave?”

“Me? No, but if—”

“Ready for that walk?” she interrupts, finishing her glass of wine.

“Yea.”

The thin glaze of snow crunches beneath their feet as they walk in the park. He asks a few questions, but she seems a little lost in thought, so he talks to fill the silence.

She doesn’t look at all annoyed, in fact, if he had to guess, he thinks her expression is one of clear amusement and enjoyment. She starts to giggle softly at his nervous scatteredness, and he says, “You _really_ need to shut me up.”

His Love smirks at this when she turns to face him. After only the briefest consideration, she leans forward, head slightly tilted, and comes closer until their lips meet. There’s a chill at the point of contact that is quickly obliterated as they warm each other, her lips sliding against his, the kiss tender and affectionate, sending a burst of reassuring warmth all through him. His hands gravitate to her hips.

She ends the kiss before he’s ready, backing away enough to assess his reaction as he tries to chase her so it doesn’t have to end. Words fail him entirely now as he gazes a love-drunk stare. 

His Love finally says, “Are you sure you’re really completely free from your vows?” 

“I’m entirely certain.”

“Let’s say, theoretically, that I were to ask where you’re staying?”

“I could show you. That way you’ll know how to find it if you ever want to.” He steps back, nodding in the right direction. “Do you want to see it?”

“Sure,” she replies, a smirk emerging that she fights off poorly.

They walk together in silence, that simmering tension that drew them together in the first place years ago still threatening to boil over all too easily. He wonders through the quiet as they look around at casually dropping snow about the first night they met. 

He probably shouldn’t ask the question, but he does, knowing well that if she doesn’t want to answer, she won’t, and by this point she must expect an unending deluge of queries from him. So he asks, “Think we would have had sex the night we met, had I not been a priest?”

She shoots a sideways glance at him and says, “Oh. Erm...maybe. Probably not.”

“Okay,” he replies, accepting that answer.

“Why do you ask?”

“I dunno. Curiosity.”

“Would you have?”

“Yea,” he answers almost too quickly. “Being a priest couldn’t seem to stop me, ultimately, so I can’t imagine why I wouldn't have wanted to.”

“Well, keep in mind the chaos that ensued, and the fact that I unceremoniously ended the evening.”

“In my mind, at least, we would have avoided all that. Because we would have ended up fooling around in the alley, and then run off before the end of the meal.”

She seems to like that answer.

“You don’t think so?” he pushes for more.

“Sounds nice now. At the time I was...I dunno.”

“You were what?” 

“I was...trying something different.”

“Like what?”

Her laugh shows her irritation at his probing. “I was taking a break from all that.”

“From what? Sex? Casual encounters?”

“Yea. Kind of. Always seemed to get me more trouble than good.”

His shoulder bumps hers. “A little trouble is fun, now and again.”

She laughs, but doesn’t say more to him as she’s lost in her own thoughts somewhere far away.

“This is it,” he tells her, placing his hand on her back and letting her through the front door. 

A narrow hall leads back to his room past several other numbered rooms. It seems to take forever to get there. Looking back, he half expects her to vanish behind him. 

He unlocks the door and swings it open for her to enter. She steps inside, immediately turns back and faces him, and says, “It’s nice,” although her eyes haven’t so much as swept the room. 

“Thank you,” he answers, standing far too close to maintain a polite distance, very nearly touching already. “I’ve missed you every day. Every single one of them.”

“Missed you, too,” she confesses. 

He steps just the slightest closer, his hands lifting toward her, when she abruptly asks, “And you’re _really_ allowed to have sex now?”

The question takes him by surprise, and he chuckles, “Yea. I can. I can also have...a relationship, an actual relationship. Should such an opportunity present itself.”

"So there aren't any left over Catholic rules or—”

“Well, if I were trying to be a good Catholic, sex outside of marriage is, as a rule, frowned upon. But you know that.”

“And are you trying to be a good Catholic?”

“No,” he answers straightforwardly with a single shake of his head. “Are you?”

“Never.”

They share a little snicker that ends as their lips meet again without the slightest caution to be found from either of them. He pulls the belt on her coat as she pushes his from his shoulders, bits of chilly snow that stowed away on her overcoat quickly melting away.

Her slender fingers move under his shirt, wickedly cold enough to make him twist as she takes it from him and warms her hands on his skin. His time with the army certainly didn’t harm his physique, and he's pretty pleased with that. She murmurs something that sounds appreciative but is largely inaudible as her touch moves over him. 

He unbuttons her jeans and thrusts both hands down the back of them, pulling her body tightly to his because he wants to feel her closeness. Remaining within his embrace, she wriggles out of her own top and bra like she needs this connection with him just as badly, like she’s been waiting years to get against him again, too.

She steps away long enough to rid herself of any last scrap of clothing and, although she’s naked, he doesn’t have more than a glance of her before she’s back against him. Her nakedness fuels their shared frenzy as she opens his trousers.

The room is small, the bed very near, and he quickly steps backward, lifts her legs to his waist, and falls back onto the mattress. She lands on his stomach as his hands plant to lift himself up to her. Unable to settle on one location, he hungrily kisses her mouth, her neck, her chest and shoulder. Warmth between them grows as heat is shared and pulses rise.

Winding his hands beneath her thighs, he lies back and lifts her higher, bringing her pussy to his lips. Her knees brace on the bed on either side of his head, and he swears she moans a little at just the thought of this, before he even makes contact. When he does, finding her slippery with anticipation, his tongue dances up the parting of her sex, flicking over her clit but not really settling there yet either. He draws closer still, letting his tongue dip inside her, wishing to savor as much of her as he can.

He explores her sex with open kisses and flicks of his tongue that make her squirm above him. He slows only a little as he looks up and finds her gaze as his lips surround her clit and suck in little pulses as she gasps out in pleasure.

He watches her reactions, looking up at her as he controls the way her hips move against him with one arm, and the other frees itself from under her leg to roam the rest of her body.

There’s no disconnect between them, not at all, as he sees the way she, too, watches him, meets his gaze. “Fuck,” she calls out gruffly as the sensations in her build. She reaches behind herself and her fingers move into his opened trousers, finding his cock, still covered by his shorts. 

He tries to lift from the bed, full of anticipation and arousal, to unclothe himself, a task that proves difficult because he refuses to stop tasting her. Her fingers walk beneath his waistband and make full contact, skin-to-skin, stroking him. At first touch, the surge of pleasure takes over, and he stills almost completely, simply feeling. 

When she moves off him, his brow furrows with disapproval even though she’s still touching him. He licks his lips, tasting the flavor of her that covers his mouth, not wanting to stop just yet. He takes the opportunity to free himself from his clothing, wanting nothing at all between them. 

She pushes him back down to the bed with an absolutely wicked grin. Kneeling beside him, she turns head to toe, her knee moving over his head so she’s straddling his face again. He feels her breath on his cock before she licks around the tip with delicious care, her lips finally surrounding him as his body tenses even more.

He takes hold of her so he can direct her body, so he can rock her hips so it feels like she’s fucking his face. He extricates one arm from beneath her to push two fingers into her core, moving within her at the same pace she’s swallowing his cock. They wordlessly agree to this slightly restrained rhythm, exploring each other’s intimate selves, driving their partner to the edges of control. 

Neither can last much longer against the skillful attention they receive, each matching the other’s pace as it quickens, casting restraint to the wayside. His fingers still pumping into her body, his lips more tightly surround her clit and suck as his tongue relentlessly flutters. Her mouth slides down his shaft again and again, letting him fill her, her fingers cupping his balls. 

Her hips start pulsing against him, the movement growing more wild and lusty. It’s the fucking hottest thing. He can’t hold on knowing she can’t hold on. She doesn’t relent or slow in the least as she takes him, the throaty moans from her and from him sending vibrations tickling through them. Their orgasms nearly arrive together as she sucks every last bit from him, and he from her.

She drops onto the bed next to him, both panting and giving these sighs that are half-giggles as their bodies, relieved of tension, settle. He closes his eyes, feeling this moment of total relaxation. 

“Jesus,” he murmurs, sounding kind of surprised.

“What?” she asks. “Have I gotten boring?”

He laughs as his head, still resting on the bed, shakes. “No.”

Still wishing for contact and closeness, he goes to her, resting his hips on the bed between her thighs, and his head on her chest. Her leg wraps around him, her fingers cradling the back of his head. 

It feels ridiculously good to be holding her again, to be held by her. They’re comfortable like this for a little while, but he feels her reaching for the table beside the bed and realizes she’s checking the clock. He lifts his head and teases, “Got somewhere to be?”

“Yea,” she chuckles, but adds seriously, “home.”

“Right,” he answers. “Of course.” 

“Have a few minutes yet.” She settles back down as her fingers move through his hair. It’s a shockingly tender touch that he’d really like to enjoy much longer. But this is just the beginning, or re-beginning. He’s a step closer.

* * *

In many ways, the next couple of days go very well. She meets him each day for at least a little while. They have sex or drinks, take walks, talk, each seeming to openly enjoy the other’s company. They certainly make each other laugh. 

In fact, one day after meeting in his room, she turns to him just as she is leaving and says, “It’s so strange because I tried to forget how much I love you. And you come back, and within hours, I’m completely aware not only that I still love you, but that I never really stopped.”

Her words stun him into silence as he sits naked in his bed. She immediately says, “See you tomorrow,” before she walks out the door. 

He leaps up, tripping over a blanket, grabbing his trousers, pulling them quickly on, and dashes to the door. He opens it in time to see her at the end of the hall. Without the slightest hesitation, he yells, “I love you, too.” She turns back, looking over her shoulder and giving a little wave before she leaves.

In those ways, things are going very well. But their time is short each day, in limited bits and pieces. And he is very aware of the way she keeps parts of her life completely separate from him. But when she looks at him, her eyes have a sort of dreamy adoration in them. Every time he sees that, he can’t really doubt the truth of her feelings.

During a walk one afternoon, she checks her phone, momentarily satisfied that no one has tried to reach her. He’s been thinking a lot about how strange it is that they’ve shared a lot as far as stories and flirtation and sex, but she hasn’t said a word about her daughter. Not a single story, or photo, not so much as a mention. She doesn’t gush, nor does she complain about life at home. Guilt, like the return of an old and persistent companion, creeps in again.

His chest fills with both that guilt and the love he feels as her fingers tug at his sleeve. “What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he answers.

She sees it immediately and mistakes it for regret and lets go. He can practically hear her concerns. “It’s not what you think,” he adds quickly.

“Okay,” she replies, filled with obvious disbelief. 

“Just was...forget it.”

“What?” she presses.

“I was wondering if you...were alone.”

Her face scrunches with confusion. “At times, sure.”

“I meant were you alone when the baby was born? Did you have someone you're close to there to support you?" The words don’t fall out easily.

“Oh,” she appears genuinely shocked, taking a moment all on her own to work through the question. A gentle smile finds her lips, and she shakes her head, “No. I wasn’t alone.”

“Good,” he bobs his head quickly. “With me being gone and your mother being…”

“Dead,” she supplies abruptly.

“Yea. I just had this awful image of you by yourself and trying to handle it all, worrying about—” he shakes his head, feeling on shaky ground asking her questions about this part of her life that she doesn’t want to share with him. “I'm relieved. Truly.”

She searches his face, at first with uncertainty that softens and becomes more appreciative. She speaks quietly as he loops his arm through hers to bring her closer, “My sister. She was with me.”

“Claire?”

“Yea.”

“That’s great.”

“It really was,” she notes. “Claire is the unrivaled Queen of the Crisis, so she handled absolutely everything she could. She was really great. Then she took time off work. Even stayed with me the first few months to help out.”

He sees her reminiscing for a short while, thinking of memories he’ll never be able to have.

“Were you frightened? Or worried?” he asks at the same soft whisper.

“No. I dunno. Maybe. Sometimes I wondered…”

“Come on, tell me. Tell me!” he nudges when her attention wanders away.

She sharply inhales. “Sometimes I felt confident. And sometimes I wondered if I was making a massive mistake. Everyone expects you to be so glowy and maternal, appreciative and awed by the 'miracle of life,' but...a lot of the time I just wished I’d somehow know that it was the right thing to do. I didn’t know how to be a good mother or how to…” she fades off. "I wanted her, I just didn't want to ruin another person."

“I suspect everyone has those thoughts.”

“Well, tell them not to share those thoughts aloud, because people will _not_ approve.”

“Once your sister went back to work, you were able to bring on someone to help? The woman I met at the café?”

“Funny story that. When Claire had to go back to work, my Stepmother completely freaked out because Dad offered to watch the baby for me one or two days a week. I wouldn't have done that to him, as much as he wanted to help. So she talked him into helping me pay for someone to give me a hand.”

“Wow.”

“Worked out well for her. She didn’t have to deal with an infant, and then she could tell everyone that I’m an inept mother who couldn't even afford proper care, so they had to help me. For her that's a total win-win.”

She laughs softly, but he frowns a little. "So she hired someone?"

“God, no! I'd never let her choose. Can't imagine. Simone started coming to the café years ago. She raised some of her own kids, then came to London and worked as a nanny. That family moved away, and she mentioned to me she was bored, and it just sort of worked out. She’s great with my daughter, I never have to worry about whether she’s safe and well cared for while I’m gone.”

“So does your daughter even see your dad and his wife?” He's aware her tolerance for questions is being tested. 

“Yea, she sees them,” his Love nods with memories playing behind her eyes again. “Dad is completely enamored with her, it’s total adoration on both parts. One day, if she asks for a dragon or a walrus or something, I don’t think he’ll be able to say no. Can’t wait to see how he works that all out.”

“And your stepmother?"

“Although reluctantly, at first, she is quite taken with the Tiny One as well. Everyone falls prey to her little charms, she’s very hard to resist.”

“Everyone?” he chuckles, wondering if he may be offered an opportunity to be so charmed.

She glances at the time on her phone and winces. “Sorry, I’ve really got to go,” she says, pausing for a kiss before stepping back and waving goodbye.

He very nearly asks her if he can come along and have a look at the rest of her life, meet the child he knows almost nothing about, learn about the many things his Love keeps hidden.

He knows he hasn't been back for long, and doesn't want to push for more than she's ready to give. But he wonders how long he'll have to be patient, and if she'll ever fully let him in. 


	3. Chapter 3

The Ex-Priest stops by his Love’s café one morning before work to see her, a practice that has become a ritual over these last weeks. “Sorry,” his Love says when he asks when she can see him. “I have to get home today as soon as I’m done here. Make it up to you tomorrow?”

“Is everything okay?” he asks, hoping that she’ll finally start to break down the wall she keeps between her time with him and the rest of her life at home. 

“Yea,” she nods before she starts talking about how she needs to order supplies for the café, something she’s clearly using to change the subject. 

“Is your daughter alright?” he asks.

She nods again, her discomfort over the topic almost instantaneous. He doesn’t ask for more with words, but his eyes are persistent, so she explains, “Simone’s son is visiting, and Claire’s in Finland today. I don’t want my Stepmother dragging her to this art show she has tonight where my daughter would probably end up as part of an installation. I just can’t work it out tonight.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” she says, confident this topic has been put to rest.

But he's not done discussing it. His patience is beginning to wear. He watches her stretch her neck and sees just how tired she looks. It’s probably exhausting to keep the parts of her life separate and everyone on both sides of it content. 

This is an opportunity to start a discussion he's wanted to have for a while. “You always have to come to me,” he notes. “Seems kind of unfair. Maybe sometimes I could start coming to you.”

“You come here all the time.”

“I mean other places. Your world beyond the café.”

“Oh, that’s okay.”

“You don’t want me at your place?” he guesses.

“I didn’t say that,” she smiles, clearly longing to avoid this.

“You have this entire side of your life that I don’t even know about. Is that how our whole relationship is going to be?”

With a too cheery smile worn as cover, she says, “What do you want me to do?”

“If I came by your place, we’d have more time to spend.”

“Mine?”

“You don’t want me there, or you don’t want me around her?” he questions, wounded feelings rising.

“Who?” 

“Don't do that. You know exactly who.”

Frustration shows as she breaks her policy of silence about her life as a mother. “Look, I don’t think the rest of my life is how you picture it. If she’s cranky, or didn’t sleep at all during the day, or ill, or when she’s teething...sometimes the whole evening is kind of an awful mess that leaves you dreaming of bedtime and a stiff drink.”

“That’s okay.”

“Some days are good, great even, but even then, there’s a lot to be done.”

“I understand that.”

“And she doesn’t always sleep all night. Most nights, but not all. Sometimes she wakes up.”

"If she needs you, that's ok. If there's one difficult evening, there will be other evenings, many more, I hope.” He pauses, reading the hesitation all over her body.

"Do you want to be with me?" he hesitantly asks. “For more than just sex?”

"Of course I do."

“Out with it.”

“With what?” she tensely laughs.

“Would you just fucking tell me what’s going on! Just tell me! Tell me, I can handle it.”

But she pauses and goes off into her own head, and as much as that infuriates him, he waits, watches...listens.

“You’re afraid it won't work out if I see what your life is really like,” he guesses. “That I won’t want to be involved.”

Her face is blank as she pauses, not exactly agreeing but not disagreeing either.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. “You think I won’t like being part of the rest of your life, or you're concerned I won't be understanding of the demands placed on you?” He knows it's true. 

“You didn’t choose any of this.”

“I have chosen it. At least I'm trying to if you’ll let me.”

“We have a good thing.”

“Yea, we do. But it’s partial. Compartmentalized. How can we really have a relationship like that?”

“You don’t know how chaotic things are at home—”

“Because you won’t fucking let me know,” he shouts, turning toward a customer who's standing right outside the door with their coffee who peers in, trying to hear what the noise is all about. The Ex-Priest waves an apology, letting on that everything inside is fine. 

Calming himself, he whispers to his Love even though they are alone, “I won’t walk in and introduce myself as her ‘dear old dad’ and I won’t mention the...relationship between us to her. Or anyone. You have my solemn word.”

After lengthy thought, his Love asks, “And what if she’s like me?” 

“What's wrong with that?”

Anger and an unexpected depth of sadness rise in her voice. “What if she’s like me, and she falls instantly in love with you? What if she loves you so much that she can’t really even comprehend it? What if she lets herself think about the possibility that you’re going to be part of her life, and then you’re called by some fucking higher moral calling that feels like righteousness to you and feels like complete and utter bullshit to her?”

He steps back just a moment, shocked not only by the most ardent outburst he remembers seeing from her, but by the protectiveness he feels coming from her. But she’s not only protecting herself anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head. “I’m so fucking sorry that—” 

Her open fists drop to the counter as she calms her emotions. “I know you are. I know. I believe you. But—”

“I want to be with you, be in your life. All of it. None of it has to be perfect. I’m not unrealistic. How can I begin to show you if you won’t let me? How can I demonstrate my intentions, how can I start to make it up to you, make it up to our—to your daughter.” He cringes at his near slip of words, and hopes it doesn't cause her to pull away.

“It’s not your fault you weren’t in her life. You didn't know she existed. I don’t blame you for that,” she replies.

“It is my fault. In a way. Because of my actions. Because of the way I treated her mother. I’ve missed out on so much.” He’s on the verge of tears, they’re all within him, just poised to be released. “Even though you’ve absolved me of responsibility for her, I haven’t absolved myself. I don't even _want_ to be absolved."

She considers his words, but seems unswayed.

Setting fear to the side, he makes his hopes known. “I want to see her face. I want to know what her voice sounds like. I want to know what it looks like when she smiles. I want to know who she is. I want to know who you are with her.”

She studies him carefully, thoughtfully, and her resistance eases as she does. He is truly shocked when his Love calmly says, “Okay,” like maybe all he had to do was ask all along.

Cautiously emboldened, he continues, “And I want you to let me into your life, to be part of it. I want us to do things together, more things. Normal, ordinary things. Maybe...I could even be helpful to you. So tell me whatever the fuck you want me to do. I'll do it.” He folds his hands in front of him and waits like he’s expecting to receive orders. 

His Love contemplates this, then admits, “She looks like you sometimes.”

“She does?” he wonders, the strain he feels in his chest is audible. 

“Yea. She gets ragey like you, too,” she says with a warm glance and a flicker of a smile.

She falls quiet again, and looks down at her phone. Initially, her interest in checking her device at that moment seems callous, but she stands next to him, holds the phone close to her chest, and asks, “Do you want to see a photo?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately.

She hands the phone to him and explains, “That’s her on her first birthday.”

He holds the phone with both hands, looking at the image of a child with a bashful smile that looks so much like her mother, and eyes that look a lot like his. She has slightly wispy brown hair and full cheeks, and looks by all accounts quite happy in that moment.

Part of him worried that he wasn’t really meant to be a father, that he wouldn’t feel whatever he should feel. But the storm of emotions that hits him is powerful (just from seeing an image). He doesn’t know if it’s what he’s supposed to feel, but he clearly feels something. He says with uninhibited awe, “My God, she’s beautiful.”

“She is, isn’t she?” his Love says with a smile unlike the others he’s seen. Then she reins in her tenderer feelings and says, “She’s also mischeivous and stubborn and completely hilarious. She scrolls through a few other photos as he holds the device. “She has an amazing sense of humor, but she only knows a few words. I don’t know how, but she’s been sort of funny since she could first start reacting to things.”

He involuntarily rubs the side of the phone with his thumb in such a gentle way. 

“This one was today,” she says, showing him a picture of the girl staring up from the ground with a devilish expression clearly inherited from or learned by watching her mother, her little hands holding onto her mother’s skirt like she’s about to climb up it. 

“I can see you in that grin,” he giggles softly.

“Do you know that sweet little child wiped that dirty face all over my clothes right after that? I was late to the café because I had to go change for the second time this morning.”

He smiles again, looking between them. 

“Our life is messy. It’s not peaceful most of the time,” she explains. “It’s monotonous and unexpected at the same time. And it is exciting and exhausting, too. And sometimes she is the sweetest little thing, cuddly and adorable, and she’ll do things that make you think you can’t have all of that love you feel inside you... And sometimes she’s grumpy or fussy, and sort of...possessed. It’s not all photo moments.”

“I understand it isn’t all sweetness and perfection.” He points emphatically at the phone and the picture that remains and confesses, “I want to know this child. I want to know about all the moments. The possessed ones and the sweet ones. I want all of it. And I want a real relationship with you beyond an hour here or there in my room.”

“You might change your mind once you’re there.”

“I'm not entirely clueless, you know. I became friends with people on base. People with children. They’d invite me to dinner sometimes, or to parties after baptisms or things like that. I liked those visits. I started to enjoy the feeling of their buzzing little homes. And at the end of the night, I’d go back to my room. Quiet. Empty. Orderly. It was so fucking lonely. All day, surrounded by people...still lonely. I don’t think the fact that you have a family is an obstacle. It feels like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Maybe everything has led to this. I only wish it didn’t take me so long to get here.”

“Look, I won’t keep her from you.”

“Thank you.”

She points out, “You know you’ve never even asked to see her.”

“I’ve wanted to. I didn't think you'd…" his voice can't seem to continue. 

She nods her understanding. “Okay,” she says. “Meet us here today after closing?”

“Yea,” he replies, a little stunned. “Today? Really?”

“If you want.”

“I do!”

“I’ll have Simone bring her by. We can all spend an hour or so together. Start with that?”

“Yea. Absolutely. I can show you, demonstrate that I mean the things that I’ve said. Let me start to make it up to you both.”

“Or...you just come today and meet her, spend some time. And we’ll see how you feel after that.”

* * *

He returns to the café later, heading straight over after finishing his work as a counselor (a job his contacts in the armed forces helped him to find). Arriving nearly thirty minutes before he’s supposed to be there, he wonders if he should have stopped to buy a gift for the child, have something to offer her.

He carefully steps across the still slightly damp, newly cleaned floor, and takes a seat in the café as his Love places an order over the phone. 

They’re alone a few minutes until the door clangs open, and he sees the woman he’d met his first day back bluster through with a well-bundled child on her hip. “Dear God in Heaven, it’s cold!” she loudly announces as she goes right past him and straight to his Love. 

Trying to remain patient, he stays seated, hearing the smallest little voice say, “Mummm, Mummm,” as the child reaches out toward her mother. 

“Hello, Tiny One!” his Love says, pretending she’s pleasantly surprised at the arrival, taking the child into her arms. Mother and daughter’s faces come closer together, stopping when forehead rests on forehead, nose on nose, and each smiles.

The child says, “Aww,” like she’s seen an adorable kitten as she nestles against her mother’s neck in a cuddly hug. The Ex-Priest wonders if he’ll one day be worthy of receiving such affection. 

Simone reaches for them, a hand each on the mother’s and daughter’s cheeks, and she says, “I’ll see you soon, my dearest hearts.”

Pulling her coat up around her, she turns to leave, pausing only to give a brief assessment to the man sitting there, enough that he knows his Love must have at least mentioned him in some capacity by the way he’s surveyed. The nanny nods and hurries out.

His Love has to unwrap the little girl from a hood and thick coat and blanket, revealing a much smaller bundle beneath all of the weather-proofing. She whispers words to her daughter, pointing in his direction, and the child hides shyly behind her mother’s face at first. His Love waits, still talking, saying things he cannot hear. 

Finally the child lifts her head and looks over at him, raising her hand and waving a clumsy ‘hello’ to him.

He waves back, wondering if this is the same feeling he would have had if he’d been with them when she’d been born, and he first laid eyes on her. He stands, watching the little girl hide again, and he feels awful that perhaps she’s afraid of him, so he lowers back down to the chair. But then her head pops up and she peeks around her mother. She has a little look of surprise before she buries her face yet again, and he realizes she’s playing a little game with him. 

He chuckles softly from deep in his chest as his Love walks over, child in her arms. She sits near him, daughter still tucked close. His Love explains, “She needs a few minutes.”

Her little head rests on his Love’s shoulder as she absently rubs the child’s back in a way that makes it clear it’s not even purposeful or conscious anymore. “What does she like to do?” he asks.

“Um...well, she likes to get into things she’s not supposed to. She really loves being read to, and often enjoys turning the pages before you’re ready. She has a chasing game we play. And really she likes any little toy with wheels that she can spin. A favorite is blocks, or more specifically she loves knocking down towers of them.”

“What a coincidence!” he replies, talking to the child, “I really enjoy building towers of blocks to be knocked down.”

The child begins to fidget more on her mother’s lap before she twists away, and his Love puts her down on the floor. The girl stands near her mother, keeping one little hand on her mother’s leg like she’s anchored to it. As the adults talk, the child looks over toward her little trove of toys like she wants to get them, but she’ll have to let go of her mother and walk past the stranger to get them.

Eventually she breaks free, going past her father to the toys. He smiles, watching the slight unsteadiness that sometimes strikes her balance as she walks. She grabs the box and drags it out as best she can, but it’s too heavy for her to move. He reaches over and says, “Can I help you with that?”

The child stops, brow furrowed and face suspicious, so he takes the edges of the box and carefully lifts it over her to the middle of the room. The suspicion slowly clears from her face as delight settles in when she goes to the box, sits by it, and tugs and tugs until it tips and the toys scatter absolutely everywhere. His Love carries on like this isn’t strange, and he gets a little sense of the clutter and disorganization a child so small brings. Within ten minutes, the café looks like it’s hosted a wild party.

He carefully lowers himself to the floor after a bit, taking some of the blocks and starting to build a tower. The girl freezes, sitting in front of him, watching each block stack with patience that really surprises him. She looks between him and the blocks each time. He has four stacked and is readying a fifth when she screams out with utter glee and whacks the blocks and destroys the tower. “Woah!” he calls as they come flying at him. The child dons an expression of surprise, covering her mouth like she's truly shocked, and he can't help but laugh warmly at her as his adoration grows almost too easily. 

“More dangerous than it seems,” his Love jokes.

“Yea,” he agrees, seeing the child has returned to waiting for the tower to be built again, calmly patient. “Should I do it again?”

“‘gain,” the child whispers, staring at the spot where one block waits to serve as a base. This time she allows the stack to grow six high before she has to destroy it.

It gives him a chance to sit close to her, to interact a little, to see her face and hear the smallness of her voice when she whispers compared to the loud trumpeting of the scream she gives when she demolishes. She enjoys this game for a little while, and then, without any explanation whatsoever, starts grumbling and looking on the verge of tears, and he wonders what in the hell he did wrong.

His Love is still talking, obviously used to these shifts in mood, and goes behind the counter. The girl’s subtle grousing grows louder, and he asks his Love, “What happened?”

“She’s hungry,” she answers.

The child makes an unhappy trip over to her mother, trying to climb up to be held while the snack is quickly put together. “Can I do something?” he asks.

“Not really,” his Love answers back, scooping up the child and finishing her preparations one-handed.

All of the unhappiness leaves the child’s face once she sits at the table on her mother’s lap, plate in front of her. She focuses on mastering a little fork designed for those her age with one hand, while picking up bits of food with the other hand to eat immediately.

“Want to see something funny?” his Love asks.

“Sure.”

“Watch.” She picks up her phone and plays a song. After a few seconds, the girl starts dancing while she eats, shoulders moving, head bobbing. “She can’t resist.”

He laughs as the girl is so focused on her food that she doesn’t really even notice that she’s dancing.

His Love beams with ridiculous amounts of adoration at the child, explaining, “It doesn’t matter what kind of music, or what she’s doing...if she can hear it, she dances.”

After her food, the child plays on the floor, and her father gets back down with her. It’s been more than the hour his Love offered him, but time passes somewhat quickly as he tries to soak in these moments because of the many he’s missed. He also has no idea when he'll see her next. 

He loves the way the child points with a decisive finger at the things she wants, or when she wants someone to tell her the word that belongs to an object.

When she starts getting fussier again, he looks over the ruin they’ve made of the café floor. He meets eyes with his Love, who is looking at him with notable affection, too, and then she sighs and says, “It’s all going to go downhill pretty fast after this.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, watching the girl climb back to her mother. 

“I need to get her home.” His Love holds the child as she begins to pick up toys as quickly as she can. He’s called to action, saying, “I’ve got this,” as he helps clean up, feeling like at least, in some small way, he can finally be helpful.

She wraps the child back up in her coat and various layers to keep her warm against the cold, which is difficult now that the girl is less contented. So she puts on music, and the child dances a little even as she’s unhappy. His Love quickly puts on her own coat and tidies up the last few remaining things that are still out of place.

Once dressed and ready, his Love says, "Really have to get going.”

“Okay,” he nods, wishing he could go with them, wondering if she’s satisfied with how things went. “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks. Anticipating her thoughts, he adds, “Both of you?”

She looks at the girl, then back at him, resolutely tightens her lips and nods. “If you're sure you want to. Take tonight and think about—”

“I don’t need to fucking—” he halts, looking at the girl, “Sorry. Sorry.” Speaking softly to his Love, he continues, “I don’t need to think about it. I’ve already done a lot of thinking. Too much thinking.”

Her look becomes serious and somber, self-protection and evasion momentarily set aside. He listens carefully when she says, “What I mean...is that if you want to be her friend, spend some time with her, then no problem. That's easy. But if you want to be more to her...” she inhales deeply and fully, her hold on her child tightening. She loves the girl so much, she's willing to say whatever must be said to protect her. "Losing a parent you love _really_ hurts. If you want to be more to her, you have to _stay_ around. No matter what happens between us, or what you're called to do. Understand?"

"I agree. Completely."

"I know it's a lot to ask—"

“It's not. I'm prepared to make that commitment. I'm certain. But I know you may not be yet. So you take the time you need. And when you’re ready, if you’re ready, I want to be around for her the way I should have been from the start. Okay?”

His Love nods. 

He speaks so gently as he looks at the girl who seems half asleep on her mother’s shoulder. “It was wonderful meeting you.”

The girl reaches out with one pointing finger, and he does the same until they meet. It's the first touch they've ever shared. He would love to hold her for just a minute or two, but instead he rubs softly down the back of her finger with his. She smiles before she tucks her hands between her and her mother. He wonders what it feels like to have her tiny self snuggling in his arms. He places a hand on the back of her hood like he might have done to give a blessing, but instead says, “Bye.”

He leans toward his Love, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he holds her arm. “I love you,” he says. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yea," she answers, stepping out into the cold and locking up. "Love you, too.”

She whispers, “Say goodbye,” to the child, who seems too sleepy to wave. 

He watches the pair of them, his Love and their daughter, as they walk down the pavement, wishing he could walk with them. 

The child is peering over her mother’s shoulder at him, and he waves goodbye one more time. This time, the child waves back, lifting her arm like it weighs a ton. It makes his heart ache and feel full and mended all at the same time.

He partially turns away, half facing the way he wants to go, and half facing the way he’ll have to go. But when his Love feels the girl waving, she turns around and sees him waiting. She stops her retreat, looking at the girl and whispering something. For a moment, it feels like maybe his Love can't resist him. She shouts at him, “You can come by our place tomorrow. If you still want to."

A hopeful smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he tries to sound calm, “Are you sure?”

“If you are,” she nods.

"I am. I _really_ am."

"I'll call after she's sleeping, give you the address."

His grin consumes his expression. "See you tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

The new Father walks with his Love to her flat, eager to spend a simple evening at home with the people he hopes to one day be able to call ‘his family’ without feeling unworthy of the words. The evening before, apart from occasional complaints by their daughter, was a special evening for him. And he must not have fucked up anything too badly, because his Love is opening the door and gestures for him to walk in.

The moment he does, he hears very displeased crying. Claire, just back from Finland, watched the child while his Love met with him to bring him back. 

Claire frustratedly explains, “Nap time. Couldn’t find Shoo-toh. So she hasn’t slept and is feeling a bit...ragey.”

“Well that’s not good, is it, Tiny One,” his Love says to the child.

He looks at the obviously overtired child, sitting in the middle of the floor, face pink from crying, rubbing her eyes. He doesn’t remember ever seeing such overwhelming sadness in someone so small. Just as he prepares to ask what a ‘Shoo-toh’ is, his Love kneels down in front of the girl and says, “It’s okay. We’ll find him.” At that, the crying lessons, although the quivering lip and sadness remains.

His Love stands and says, “Is he under you?” before she tosses the girl up in the air a little and says, “Nope, not under you.” The girl smiles for a second, then frowns again. And the pair methodically look around a few more places. 

He’s a little awed by the way she is with the child, patient, kind, like she knows exactly how to be a parent. He surely doesn’t. 

The little girl gasps with joy when her mother goes into the kitchen, opens a cupboard, and finds what she’s been looking for. He joins them, curious about whatever in the hell a ‘Shoo-toh’ is, and finds the child hugging a little pink stuffed toy. “You found it!” he says softly.

The girl has a life grip on the toy, and when he tries to look at it, his Love turns her body at a sort of awkward angle, like she doesn’t want him to see what it is. “So…” he starts, hoping his Love will fill him in, but finding her silent. “...What is Shoo-toh?”

The child sits up, holding it tightly in both little fists so he can see it. His heart tightly holds a beat for a fraction of a second when he sees a little plush Piglet. His Love's cheeks flush.

“Who gave that to her?” he asks.

His Love shakes her head like she’s trying to remember, but finally admits, “I think I did.”

“Why?”

“Why not? You don’t like Piglet?” she argues, but her obvious shyness makes it seem the gift was related to him and a conversation from so long ago.

“You know I do.” Gently, he pries, "Did this have something to do with me?"

The answer is plain in her silence. 

He looks at his daughter and says, “I love him, too. But why did you change his name?”

“I erm...jokingly called him ‘Prosciutto’ one night. Made her laugh,” his Love explains. “So she kept it. She likes to have him when she's in her room, falling asleep.”

He realizes Claire is studying him, taking her niece for a moment to say goodbye before leaving. Claire holds the child out in front of her, studying her face and then his, back and forth, curiously.

“Where’ve you been?” Claire tersely asks the Former Priest.

“Serving as a chaplain the last few years, overseas,” he replies.

“Back for a visit or something more...long term?”

“Long term.”

“You have a new parish, or—”

“I’m no longer a priest.”

“What brought you back to London?” Claire asks, clearly suspicious, although he thinks she feels she’s hiding it well.

“Now you know why everyone thought you were a lawyer,” his Love jokes, saving him from the questions.

“Right,” Claire answers, gathering her things. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yea,” his Love replies. “Thanks for looking after her.”

Claire turns to him and says, “Goodbye. Will I see you again, or—”

“I certainly hope so.”

She nods, still uncertain. 

Since the girl missed her nap, she falls asleep rather quickly, so the new Father and his Love eat dinner, whispering their conversation. He doesn’t want to overstay, doesn’t want to hear her hint that he should leave, so shortly after dinner, he heads out, asking again if he can return tomorrow. 

He’d give anything to know what his Love is thinking behind the expression she wears that doesn’t give him a clue. But she answers somewhat quickly, “Sure,” and her hesitation seems less than it was.

* * *

A few days later, when he returns again (he’s been there each and every day) with a dinner for everyone that he ordered to make the evening easier, his Love actually seems a little less tense at his arrival. He almost feels that she expects him to come, and maybe even looks forward to it.

After the child decorates the floor with the scraps she doesn’t want to eat during dinner, he sits on the rug near her, talking in gentle tones, and watching as she listens, or sometimes answers with a string of sounds he can’t really understand yet. 

He’s disappointed when she walks away in the middle of their little conversation, but she grabs a book and brings it right back to him, shoving it at his chest. “You want to read this?” he asks.

It’s funny the way she chooses to sit on his lap, plopping heavily down on his leg and settling in before he even realizes that’s what’s happening. He holds the book with one hand, and rests the other on her belly to hold her close to him. Her back leans against his chest, and he’s finally really holding his baby girl. He’s trying to process the joy and love he feels that can barely be contained in him, but she slaps the book, impatient for him to continue. 

His Love approaches with drinks, and he asks, “Is it okay if—”

“Yea,” she says with a laugh, like he really doesn’t need to ask, as if maybe she really is going to let him be part of this.

“Hey,” the girl shouts, smacking the book again. 

Starting before she decides to take her book elsewhere, he leans forward so his face is next to hers, and he begins to read. He reads book after book, sometimes repeating ones they’ve already done, indulging her in whichever she chooses.

When she’s done reading, she sneaks over to her mother, pats her knees, and pretends to hide. Then she does it a few more times. His Love stands up and says, “Oh no...I’m going to get you…”

The child squeals with delighted joy, running away until her mother pats her head, and then jogs backward as slowly as possible, allowing the child to catch up and tag her again. The flat is small, with two bedrooms barely large enough to fit their beds, and one open space that serves as a kitchen on one end, and a living space on the other, but they dash around it, running around tables, climbing past sofas. Both mother's and daughter’s faces show sheer glee.

When the girl finally catches her mother one last time, the woman falls to the ground like she’s been defeated, the child climbing on her and lying across her prey. The girl starts to babble something that sounds to him like “Bubble, Bubble,” and when his Love says, “Time for a bath,” he feels like he’s starting to even understand the child’s words, a little bit.

He realizes his Love is studying him as he looks on, and she notes, “I told you she charms everyone.”

“Yea. She does.”

“Brave enough to try bath time?”

"Brave?”

His Love grins and says, ”You'll see.”

He had no idea the sheer carnage a child could create in a bathroom. He’s soaked, his Love is soaked, the floor is soaked. Somehow, the person actually getting the bath seems to be the most dry. Make no mistake… the child has a wonderful time causing this destruction. 

Once she’s washed, his Love wraps the child in a fuzzy purple towel that looks so warm and comfy, and asks, “Want to hold her while I clean up this mess?”

“Yea,” he answers eagerly, reaching out and feeling truly shocked when the child leans toward him to be taken.

She shivers a little, and he sighs, “God love you,” as he wraps his arms more fully around her. Her damp nose rests on his cheek, and he leans closer to try to warm her face. 

When the majority of the puddles are sopped up, his Love scoops the girl up and dresses her, and then hands the child back to be held while she deals with other things. He walks around the flat, finding that he sways as he does, the tiny body of his child curled up in his arms, holding surprisingly still. He hums some song, something he’s sure he remembers from childhood, although he doesn’t know the words, if there were even words. She falls asleep as he holds her. 

His Love takes the girl after a few minutes, showing him how to carefully place her into the crib. “She looks so innocent!” he whispers. 

"Only when she’s sleeping,” his Love counters.

“She didn’t inherit that look from either of us,” he jokes.

“No,” she chuckles. 

She pats his shoulder, silently inviting him to stay there and watch the child as long as he wishes, and he does, for a few minutes.

When he comes out, his Love is standing right outside of the back kitchen door. She has one foot wedged in it and is holding a baby monitor to listen for any concerning sounds. 

He pushes the door open, and before he can even tell what she’s doing, his Love says, “Look, don’t judge me,” as she takes another long drag of a cigarette. “It’s just one a night, and I don’t do it around her.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he chuckles.

She leans her head back, smiles at him, and when he asks for one, she offers it. 

“It’s strange that something so beautiful and lively can come about from one of the saddest, most lost times of my life,” he marvels. 

He knows how bad that might sound, hoping she won’t take it the wrong way. He adds, “I just...not being with you, not having you... I just wanted all of that pain and aching to stop. Who would have thought, from the depths of that kind of sadness...something so wonderful could be brought into being?”

She doesn’t really react, apart from a gently subtle smile.

He leans next to her. “She has a great life, full of joy and love. I’m so very fucking grateful she has you,” he says. “Thank you for doing this all. Makes me feel slightly less terrible for disappearing.”

She slowly exhales and says, “She likes you.”

“I love her. It seems impossible, after so short a time, but I do.”

“I get it.”

“You didn’t tell Claire I'm the father?”

“I didn’t tell a single living soul,” she replies.

“I wanted to tell her...I want to tell the people at my office, my family, acquaintances. I want...literally everyone I meet to know.”

She chuckles. “Thought about mentioning it to Claire, but once you start telling people, you can’t un-tell them. Also, the lies I’ve told her about the father have really annoyed the hell out of her. So that’s been fun.”

Not distracted by the humorous part, he says, "I don’t need to un-tell anyone.”

His Love watches him for a long puff of her cigarette, then says, “Which is it? Do you know yet?”

“What?”

“You want to be our daughter’s friend or her Dad?”

He’s stunned, mostly because it’s the only time she’s ever called the child ‘our daughter.’

As the shock clears, he replies, “I want to be her Dad... with my whole soul.” 

She nods, silently contemplating, and he allows her the moment of introspection she needs. She finally says, “We should probably tell her before anyone else. Not that she’ll really know what that means.”

“I would love that,” he says with springing hope. 

“Okay,” she answers. “Café's closed tomorrow. Want to stay the night?”

Now many days they steal a few minutes alone, but each and every night so far, he’s gone home before morning, before the child sees him there. “Yea.”

“You’ll have to sleep outside, but—” she teases, laughing when she sees the confused look on his face. “No. I think you should stay. Indoors with me.”

“Okay. I will.”

“She’s an early riser. I’ll warn you.”

“Guess that means we should get to bed soon.”

His Love grins, nodding. “Probably.”

* * *

The former Priest spends the first full night in bed next to His Love since his return. He wakes up constantly, not from discomfort, but from the strange feeling of having someone beside him.

The child wakes early, before the sun, and he sits up. His Love groans and stretches, and before his feet are on the ground, he asks, “Can I get her?”

“She’ll need changed.”

“I can do it.”

The girl screams, “Mummm!” from the other room, and he chuckles.

“Can I?” he asks again. “If I need you, I'll shout.”

“Sure,” she replies.

He hurries over. The child is holding onto the bars of the crib like she’s been incarcerated. “Hello,” he says in his friendly, singy way. “Good morning!” He hopes she’s not going to be unsettled that the person coming into her room isn’t the one she’s expecting.

She reaches up without a hint of hesitation for him to lift her. He does, wrapping her up in his arms as she returns the hug. She’s not easy to change, prone to wriggling and trying to get away, even as he tries to reason with her that it would be so much easier if she’d just hold still and let him get her fixed up.

He walks out to the kitchen, their daughter in his arms, finding his Love there. He stands next to her, the girl leaning over to her mother to be held. His Love takes her and tells him, “Want to get her cup ready?” He hurries off to do so, and she adds, “I hope you’re still so eager when you’ve been doing this a year.”

* * *

As they share a drink later that night, after a full day together, he says, "Thank you for giving me a chance."

She nods, "It's nice, having you here."

“I know this hasn't been easy. But I'm here to stay. I won’t let you down,” he insists.

“You will," she answers, and he’s hurt terribly for a moment, until she says, “And I’ll let you down. And we’ll let her down. People do that.”

“Already decided that?”

“It’ll happen. Might as well have realistic expectations." He cringes unhappily, worried about the pessimistic nature of such thoughts. She adds, “The important part isn’t to never let each other down. The important part is, when it happens, we just...keep trying. That’s all I really expect. It’s all I can really offer.”

His ache subsides as he considers this, the practicality of it all. Mistakes are, after all, part of the human condition. And those words that at first felt cruel and painful suddenly release a burden from his shoulders. He nods with little quick gestures and says, “That’s so true, isn’t it?”

She smiles.

“I can do that,” he replies. 

“Good.”

After a comfortable silence he says, “I was thinking, tomorrow—”

“Oh fuck,” she replies. “Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Dad and my Stepmother. We have dinner with them and—”

“Oh!” he exclaims. “Want me to come along?”

“You sure you—” He groans in sheer annoyance that maybe she still questions his certainty, but she argues, “I don't mean it like that. If you come…I mean... you remember how they are? Right?"

"They're not so bad." 

"There will be questions my Stepmother will not hesitate to ask. About you. About your life… She's always on the lookout for a good story."

“She can ask. I've nothing to hide. What about you? You ready for them to know we're… together.”

“Yea," she replies with quiet determination, "I'm ready."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N—thank you all so much for reading and following. I’ve enjoyed writing this. I’m so sorry I haven’t been good at responding to comments (it’s hard to find free time lately), but please know how much I appreciate your support and kindness!_

* * *

As much as he initially wanted to be invited along, the new Father realizes the commitment that will be made just by virtue of the two of them going to his Love’s parent’s house together. Although he’s certain he’s ready for this announcement, he’s not quite so convinced that his Love is. But she spent half of the day trying to teach their daughter the sounds “Da” and “Dad,” and indicating that the label suited him. The child did not repeat the sound a single time in relation to him, not once. A few times, the girl looked bored with the lesson, instead getting up to play or run or fetching a book for someone to read to her.

That night, the Stepmother is beyond absolutely thrilled when she sees the Former Priest at her door, gushing, “Father! What a wonderful surprise,” and bestowing on him an affectionate hug that far exceeds polite standards for a meeting of acquaintances long parted.

He doesn’t even correct her at first, stunned a little by the clamor that happens because they’ve arrived. Their daughter’s grandfather is every bit as smitten with the child as his Love had described, taking her in his arms as soon as he can and walking away, talking softly to her. 

As they all sit over dinner, along with Claire and Klare, he realizes the questions he’d so braced for aren’t even being asked as the Stepmother seems more than pleased to talk about herself and her latest exhibition. And just as he starts to think that no one will even ask about him, there’s a break in the conversation. Their daughter, secured in her high chair, waves at him and says, “Hi!"

“Hello,” he responds, waving back at her and smiling, watching her play bashful in return.

“It’s awfully nice of you to spend time with our little darling,” the Stepmother says.

“I quite enjoy it,” he nods, studying the little girl, who is wearing an expression of deep thought, looking a lot like her mother when she’s lost in her head. He tries to listen well enough to hear.

“Still,” the Stepmother says, “not many would take the time with a child who isn’t even part of their parish.”

“Oh, well, you see...I don’t have a parish anymore,” he says, tickled as the girl grins widely at him, then at her mother, then back at him, looking very enamored with her parents. 

“How desperately sad,” the Stepmother notes.

“It’s not sad at all, really. It was my choice.”

“Was there a scandal?”

“No.”

“You couldn’t handle the church’s views on—”

“Nothing at all like that. I just...chose to leave.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Umm…” he starts, smiling momentarily at his Love, “Love. For love.” He takes his Partner’s hand and holds it on the table. “I was lucky enough that she agreed to have me.”

The Stepmother’s face goes blank, mouth slightly open, “Her?”

He nods devoutly. 

“My, this soup is delicious,” Claire says to her sister.

“It really is good,” his Love replies.

“Da!” the girl squeals, finally saying the word they tried to get her to say all day, perfectly loud and clear.

He grins, ear-to-ear, his hand on his heart because he can’t ignore the fantastic feelings that flood his chest when he sees she’s directing this new word right at him. She smiles so hard her little nose wrinkles, and then she claps at her own success.

“Da!” she screams ever so proudly, pointing at him, repeating the word almost as many times as he thinks they asked her to earlier in the day. 

“And you, being the kind man that you are, are so good to the little child,” the Stepmother says. She looks at her husband and says, “Poor little darling just assumes he’s—”

“He’s her father,” his Love states matter-of-factly, shrugs and smiles, and goes right back for another spoonful of soup.

“Of course,” the Stepmother talks like he’s a saint, “all those years spent being an extra ‘Father’ in the church, it’s probably hard to let go of that obligation you feel to those in need. As a Stepmother myself, I consider these girls as my own daughters.”

His Love and Claire both share a simultaneous surprised cough.

“Dadadada,” the child sings, swaying to her own song, her mother smiling at her, not at all upset. 

“You’re a good man. It’s really sweet how you are with her,” the Stepmother continues.

“No,” he continues, “I’m actually her _father_.”

“I know,” she pats his hand.

His Love, using a very clear and direct tone to clear up any possible misunderstanding, says, “No, he’s her father in the literal sense. As in we had sex with each other. She was conceived and now she’s here.”

“Martin would have had a lot to say about this,” Claire whispers to her sister. 

His Love lifts a glass and says, “Good fucking riddance,” as the two sisters toast.

Her Stepmother leans toward him, excited for a juicy tale, “And when exactly did you stop being a priest?”

His Love’s Dad taps her and says, “Another time.”

“Well I was only—”

Dad continues, “Y-y-you weren’t...here. Or in...erm...we haven't seen you...around—”

“I’m afraid I—” the former priest begins until interrupted.

His Love speaks up, “I know I don’t usually do things the way you wish I would.”

Her Dad nods.

She continues, “This is one of those things. But she’s here, and we all adore her. And she wouldn't be if not for him.”

Her Dad nods again, smiling at the girl.

“And he’s here now, and intends to hang around for a while,” his Love continues.

“A very, very long while,” the Former Priest continues.

Then she turns to Claire and says, “Don’t want to hog the spotlight. Didn’t you have something you wanted to tell everyone?”

Claire scowls at her, or, more accurately, into her. She puts her utensils down, and everyone can tell from Klare’s grinning face what’s about to happen. 

“We’re getting married,” Claire says.

“What wonderful news!” Dad says, as the Stepmother chimes in, “A cause for celebration,” and momentarily attention is shifted. 

* * *

The new Father stands in the kitchen, trying to make himself helpful even though they’ve hired someone to cater the evening. He looks out into the sitting room and sees the backs of his Love and her Dad, talking in quietly hushed tones as they watch the child play on the rug in front of them. As excited as he felt to come out into the open with their love and all of the wonderful things that have happened, he knows she’s certainly not enjoying this particular type of attention.

The Stepmother swoops in with a glass of wine and says, “So you must tell me…”

“What?” he answers, silently praying that something will save him from this conversation. 

“Tell the truth...just between us. You came back, saw that poor fatherless child, and decided to take responsibility for someone else’s doings.”

“No,” he turns and shakes his head. “I’m responsible for my own...doings.”

“If you’re no longer a priest, does that mean my wedding didn’t count?”

He chuckles awkwardly, “It counts. Nothing to worry about.”

“Can I ask...why?”

“Well, that seems harsh,” Claire says, coming into the room. 

The new Father pauses for a moment, thinking of how to respond, and the millions of romantic and true defenses that he could mount that would probably be dismissed as kindness or fluff immediately anyway. He answers with the full truth, “It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“Oh,” the Stepmother answers, studying him like she’s looking for signs he’s not well. 

“For her, too, I think,” Claire notes quickly as she goes out to the sitting room. 

The Stepmother talks on, although he doesn’t really listen at all, thinking about a thousand little moments, and how hard he worked to get to this point, the point where he had a family and could be questioned and doubted by this Stepmother. He wonders how the conversation between his Love and her Dad is going. 

“Will you excuse me?” he asks, walking out to the sitting room, finding Claire and her Dad and the girl playing. And he sees how much his daughter is surrounded by love, the way she’s captured her Aunt’s heart, and her Grandfather’s and his. His eyes momentarily close as he silently thanks God that his child is so adored in this world. All children should have that.

Claire looks up at him and nods outside, so he grabs his jacket and goes out to find his Love.

She is leaning against the wall at the side of the house, face up toward what little light the moon offers on such a cloudy night. She’s startled when she hears him and she grins and teases, “Thought you were a fox.”

“You weren’t entirely wrong,” he teases back as he flashes his eyes at her. 

She chuckles. “Sorry, Claire said she’d watch the Tiny One, and I needed to...get out of there for a second.”

“Can’t imagine why,” he dryly jokes.

“You okay?” she asks. “This whole announcement wasn’t quite what you expected?”

“It really should have been. That’s part of having a relationship though, isn’t it? Putting up with the insanity of relatives.”

She nods, rolling her lean so her shoulder is against the wall and she’s facing him. He mirrors her and asks, “Would you come back with me? Home, I mean. Meet the people I come from?”

“After tonight...are you sure about that?”

“Fuck yea. If you make it through that, I think nothing will break us,” he smiles. Then, more seriously, he says, “My grandparents deserve to meet our daughter so they, too, can be properly charmed.”

“Grandparents?”

“Yea. They’re in their nineties. My grandmother had her first child at the age of sixteen.”

“Wow. We’ll come. I shouldn’t be the only one to feel this uncomfortable.”

“Exactly!”

“I’m glad we told my family, got that whole announcement over with,” she says.

“Me too.” She hooks her finger into the collar of his shirt and pulls him closer. Her lips graze his, her eyes meeting his with heavy affection. “I’m so fucking in love with you,” he says.

“Me too. So fucking in love,” she responds before her lips find his again, and their mouths slide together all too easily. The kiss intensifies almost immediately, becoming hungry and deep and full of passion. His Love leans back against the wall, pulling him to the front so she’s wedged between it and his body. His hands move down her sides, descending ever further, coming to rest on her thighs. The passionate side of their connection seems to fire off all too quickly.

“Jesus,” they hear from several feet away, “aren’t you two too old to be humping in the dark outside our childhood home?”

His Love turns and smiles at Claire. “Not yet, apparently.”

“Thank god it wasn’t Dad who came out. He’d be in a state.”

The Ex-Priest pulls away from his Love, grateful for the relative cover of darkness. 

“You still have a place?” Claire asks him.

“Yea,” he starts, thinking she’s questioning his commitment, “but I’m hoping down the road, maybe we can look at some new places, together. Something a little bigger for all three of us.” He goes from worrying about Claire’s questioning to wondering if his Love will be nervous about the thought. 

“Probably should,” his Love answers with surprising ease.

Claire replies, “Not what I was getting at. I meant, Klare and I will take our niece back to yours, and give the two of you a little time alone that you clearly need.”

“What do you want in return?” his Love asks. 

“Whenever we have one, you’ll do the same from time-to-time.”

“I think I owe you a lot of hours of child-care already,” his Love notes, “but that works.” She looks at him and asks, “What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me,” he answers almost too enthusiastically.

“I’m going to get the Tiny One ready and grab my coat. Meet you back here.”

His Love goes inside and Claire looks through him. “Everything alright?” he asks, feeling there’s some burden that needs to be released from her shoulders.

“I knew it was you, you know,” she states stubbornly.

“How?” he inquires.

“Because...she kept the baby.” Claire admits, then seems to regret admitting. She continues brusquely, “Look, I don’t usually do this, okay? I don’t usually get... _involved_. I always think it’s just...it’s just best not to get in the middle of it.”

“Okay.”

“But if she were in my position…well, she wouldn’t hesitate to say what she thinks...or break someone’s nose, if circumstances called for it.”

“True.”

“You hurt her,” Claire states very clearly, stare unrelenting, letting the words hang there.

“Yes,” he confesses.

“Twice, it seems, if I’m calculating correctly.”

“You are. I was—”

“No, no. I don’t want to know about it.”

“Alright,” he replies softly.

“Just don’t...don’t do it again.” She’s clearly uncomfortable saying this, prompted by her love for her sister that forces her to speak up. 

He nods, seeing her force the world’s awkwardest, most unhappy smile before she says, “Okay. I’m going to go in. Will we see you later back at my sister’s?”

“You will.”

* * *

Their daughter in the care of Claire, the Former Priest and his Love go back to the room he rents, both knowing perfectly well he probably won’t be renting it for much longer. She saunters to his closet as he closes the curtains on the windows, her fingers fanning over the clothes he has until she comes to a garment bag. “Bondage gear?”

He chuckles, “Not exactly. But...in a figurative way, I suppose.”

She puts her fingers on the zipper at the top of the bag and looks at him to see if he’ll stop her. 

“Go ahead,” he offers. “Just a collection of my costumes.”

“Costumes? Now I have to see.”

She lowers the zipper, finding a single black outfit that he would have worn as a priest. Behind it, there’s one of his robes, the first one he ever bought. 

“Probably shouldn't have that,” he confesses. 

“Why’d you keep it?” she asks with intrigued curiosity. 

“That time of my life...it’s part of me. Part of who I am now. I wanted some connection to it. Wanted to remember.”

She pulls it free of the bag, behind it finding a uniform from his time as chaplain, and she erupts in a fit of giggles. 

“What?” he asks, giggling back because it’s infectious. 

“Ridiculous to imagine you in this.”

“Sometimes you wear things like that, in official duties. Or during travel so you don’t stick out.” Hearing her continue to laugh, he crosses his arms and says, “Is it really that funny?”

“Yes,” she bobs her head, forcing her grin into a serious expression that almost looks like a frown because she’s trying so hard not to laugh. “Put these in the sex cupboard.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve had a lot of outfits over the years. Different lives. It’s weird I don’t have one anymore.”

“Family life is less about the outfits and more about the accessories.”

He just laughs.

“Really,” she insists. She approaches, reaches into his coat pocket, and pulls out a pack of wipes that can be used for all sorts of child-related needs. “This,” she holds them up, “is proof you’re actually a parent. The gear. You...are prepared.” Reaching into an inner pocket, she pulls out her wallet that she asked him to carry because his pockets hold more. “Proof that you’re a good boyfriend,” she says, opening it and showing him the cards and a bit of money still within it. “And you haven’t even stolen any of it, so a _really_ good boyfriend.”

She tucks it back into his coat and resumes her search, finding one of their daughter’s toy figures stuffed in it. He didn’t put it there, so he imagines the child stashing it for later. He also has a little yellow barrette, and teases, “Oh, that’s mine. Obviously.”

“I thought so,” she replies, latching it in his hair right near his forehead. 

While she’s concentrating on that, he slips open the tie on her coat and wraps his arms around her. She leans right into him like it's the most natural thing on Earth.

“You know I was talking to the Tiny One earlier,” she mentions.

“What did she have to say?”

“Besides screaming ‘Da’ at the top of her lungs for all to hear?” she jokes.

“Besides that.”

“Well, you know her...a lot of gossip and trash talk.”

“Obviously.”

“But we were also talking about how nice it is to have you around to play family with us.”

He grins and nods, “I really like it, too.”

“She thought, instead of waiting...maybe you should gather up your costumes and stay with us sooner rather than later.”

“How much sooner?”

“Oh, like...tonight. Or tomorrow.”

“And what about you? What do you think about that? We can't let her make all the decisions, the power will go to her head.”

Flippantly she replies, “I never pass up the chance to have you in my bed.” He waits, patiently, for the rest of the answer. She glances down at her index finger as it passes over his lips and settles in the dip just below them. “I want you to come.”

He admits, “I’d really like that.”

He looks around at the room he’s in, remembering how many times he’d sat alone in this room and wondered if he’d ever really be part of this family, wondered if she’d ever truly let him in. After the day and evening they’ve shared, everything feels like it’s finally clicking into place as she talks of making things a little more permanent. 

“We have to get home in a little while,” she reminds him. “Promised Claire we wouldn’t be too late.”

His arms move beneath her coat, lifting the back of her shirt so he can touch her bare skin. His fingertips gently skim over her sides and she shivers a little in response. “We have a few minutes yet, right?” he asks, his lips glancing against hers.

“A few,” she smirks.

She offers one quick kiss, and as she returns for a second, he asks a question he’s been too nervous to ask her before. “Do you ever...wish I hadn’t come back? Or at least that I'd called and given you the choice to see me before I just showed up and—" 

He stops abruptly when she takes his face in her hand, her fingers on one side, thumb on the other, firmly holding him still. Her eyes lock in on his, and she waits to react until she’s certain she has all of his focus. With certainty that feels like a promise, she shakes her head no. That wordless commitment is a powerful one, steeped in devotion. Once she seems sure he understands, she offers one word, “Never.”

Her mouth comes to his almost furiously, kissing him, bringing him in. She melds to him, her body releasing itself to his, each impatiently pulling off clothing from themselves and each other as he steps her toward the wardrobe. He slams the door, costumes hung inside, pushing her against it, feeling the hot pressure of her body tightly on his. 

He lowers enough to bury his face between her tits, hands cupping them, giving a quickly hungry suck to each before his mouth skims up the top of her chest and lavishes open kisses up her neck. 

He gives himself only enough space to open and lower his trousers as she holds the back of his head, kissing and licking his neck with as much desperation as he had for her, breath raspy and quick against him as enthusiasm grows. Desire and determination make him a driven man, his touch moving up the inside of her thigh and letting his fingers move through the wetness that’s gathering. She rests her head back, lifting a leg to his hip so he has easy access to her.

His pace eases, sinking his fingers into her slowly, the heel of his hand pressing firmly against her clit as he watches every nuance of her reaction. Provoking her pleasure makes him feel powerful in a way that little else does. But he needs her now, right now, trying to tamp down the urgency he feels. He practically shouts his relief when her urgency is as great as his.

She reaches for him, stroking his cock less to entice and more because she wants to be absolutely certain he’s ready to fuck her right now. He loves it when she sometimes asks or pleads him to continue, and he’d wait for that tonight if he had any self-control left at the moment. “I need you,” he says before she can utter anything at all, “I need you…” he repeats. Little else could be said, and he’d repeat it a dozen times if need be.

She tilts her hips toward him, her hand grabbing his arse and pulling him closer, encouraging. He holds her leg tightly, guiding his sex into hers, burying himself inside her. For a moment, he rests his face against her neck, tightly clutching her to him, holding onto her with all the love he feels. And it’s like they both anticipate the actions of the other, each starting to move together at the same moment. Her hips shift away and they part, and his eyes screw shut as she slides back down his cock and swallows him up again. 

She grabs onto the top of the wardrobe behind her, holding on for balance as he devotes every bit of himself to fucking her senseless. They’re freer here, without having to be quiet or restrained. They just go at each other, fueled by all the tension that’s built since they made out in the garden after dinner. 

She cums so hard she quivers against him, mouth open, soundless at first like her body can’t be bothered to create sounds as her breath is held high in her lungs. As the crest abates just enough to allow her exhale, he hears those satisfied little moans and sighs as he joins her over the edge, the world vanishing in a blinding moment of pleasure.

After a minute or ten, who can really tell, he pulls away from her reluctantly, each still trying to catch their breath. He shakes his head to clear the fog, takes her hand, and they drop onto the bed. She curls against him, her defenses nowhere to be found as he holds her tightly and stares up at the ceiling that he's practically memorized these last months.

Neither has to hide exactly how much they need each other anymore. And for him, tempering those powerful feelings has been difficult, trying to be patient and let things fall into place. Because this love they have...it’s something real, something big. Something worth risking almost everything for.

She gripes, obviously too comfortable to move, “We have to go home. Want to take some of your stuff tonight and we’ll come back for the rest tomorrow?”

He’s not sure he’s ever heard words more pleasant than those, but he kisses her forehead and simply says, “Yea,” before he gets up and partially dresses again.

He gathers a few of his things, putting his costumes back in their bag, and he considers the titles he’s held. Seminarian. Priest. Father. Chaplain. Ex-Priest. Lover. More recently Dad, a Father in a brand new way. Boyfriend maybe, or Partner. He wonders if one day he’ll be called Husband. He ponders the question of whether their family might grow, and in what ways. 

He remembers the sadness and confusion of being in love with someone he thought he couldn’t be with, back at a time when his hands were tied. 

The possibilities now feel so vast they’re nearly endless, certainly more vast than he’d ever thought they’d be when he’d committed to the priesthood. He glances back to the bed where she’s watching him intently. “What?” he asks, remembering their daughter's yellow barrette in his hair and taking it out.

“Nothing,” she replies, a smile on her lips as she studies him.

He considers accusing her of being terribly smitten with him, but she’s already confessed that a hundred times at least. Still, she couldn’t deny it if she wanted to.

He doesn’t want to tell her that he’s wondering about their future, and all it will bring. It can be very overwhelming to try to sort that all out. But what he knows for certain is that in a short while, they’ll go _home._ Later on, he’ll check in on their daughter in her crib as she sleeps, and he’ll probably place his hand on her head and say a little prayer. And he’ll spend some time with his Love. Maybe they’ll sit outside and have a smoke, or share a drink, or maybe they’ll fall into the bed that they share. It doesn’t really matter what they do, because he’ll be there with _her_ , his Love, the one who changed his entire life from the moment he sat beside her, the one he simply couldn’t forget. 

—The End—


End file.
